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I hug my knees, feeling alone. I hate being alone.
“Miss Miller, you should get some sleep. Mr. Black wouldn’t like to know you aren’t taking care of yourself,” Westcott says.
“Mr. Rinaldi wants me dead for what I did. I don’t think he cares if I sleep or not,” I say, never letting Westcott forget Enzo hasn’t earned the Black title yet.
Westcott sighs. “Mr. Rinaldi is a complicated man. I think you should sleep.”
“I can’t.” The tears fall as I look at the closed door that leads to Zeke. “I won’t be able to sleep until Zeke is up and walking on his own.”
“That could take weeks.”
“Then, that’s how long I’ll wait.”
Westcott must realize arguing with me right now will lead nowhere. So he leaves me to sit quietly outside Zeke’s door, alone.
Hours pass, and eventually, Langston stops talking.
A new nurse arrives, and I stand, peaking my head inside as the nurses change shifts. I see Langston passed out in the chair next to Zeke’s bed.
I enter cautiously, like Langston might wake and drive me away.
He doesn’t. He snores loudly, utterly exhausted as he sleeps in the oversized chair.
The room is set up like a hospital room in one half; the other half a makeshift surgery room.
“Do you know if there are any extra pillows or blankets in here?” I ask the nurse.
She smiles and walks to the closet retrieving one of both for me.
“Thanks,” I say.
She studies the machines around where Zeke lays, while I cover Langston with the blanket and slip the pillow behind his head so his neck won’t be sore when he wakes.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” the nurse says.
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
“Don’t worry.” She holds up her computer. “All the machines are hooked up so I can monitor him from my laptop. And if you need anything, just press the button over his bed and it will alert me.”
I nod as she leaves.
I pull a chair up next to Zeke’s bed and study him. He looks so lifeless it’s hard to believe he is truly alive. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he looks like a corpse. His face is white, his body still, and tubes jet into his broken arms and legs. Bandages cover what I can see of his head and arms, and I can only imagine what his chest and legs look like beneath the covers.
I reach out and touch his hand, shocked at the initial pain of the touch, but I push through it to comfort him. He doesn’t stir. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say as tears fall.
“I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I was just trying to hurt Enzo for selling me. You were never supposed to get hurt—I’m sorry.”
Zeke doesn’t react to my words. He just lays lifeless.
And I don’t want him to forgive me for what I did anyway. So I just hold his hand hoping he knows how sorry I am.
Zeke’s body starts writhing beneath the blankets.
“Zeke,” I say hesitantly, seeing him stir.
“Zeke, it’s okay. No one can hurt you.”
His eyes fly open as his body jolts. And then I realize what’s happening—pain.
